Get Off My Lawn!
by Lawliet Holmes
Summary: After The Shepard flew the Reapers into the sun, the galaxy began to repair itself. But in a small colony on the edge of the Terminus Systems, Cerberus rears it's head. The only thing in their way? One monumentally pissed off war veteran with a chip on his shoulder. Oneshot.


It was a small colony – obscure, out of the way, under the radar – tucked in a far-away corner of the Terminus Systems that had been pretty much ignored during the Reaper War two years before. Cerberus had sniffed around the edges of their solar system briefly, but there had been no fighting. And now that the war had faded somewhat, and the galaxy was being rebuilt, colony life was back to normal… except for the addition of one unusual newcomer, who had arrived a few months after The Shepard took control of the Reapers and flew them into the Sun. The newcomer kept himself to himself, living alone in a small house on the edge of the settlement, having bought it outright on arrival with a credit transfer three times what the house was worth. Rumours spread like wildfire among the inhabitants of the colony; some thought he was a deserter, others thought he was a criminal. Only the man who sold him the house had seen him in person, and he stubbornly refused to get involved with the gossip. All he would say was that he was as good a man as any, paid well, and kept himself to himself, which "you could do with trying sometime".

And so, whilst the colonists remained curious about the identity of the strange man, life went on as usual.

That is, until a Cerberus ship was spotted in the upper atmosphere, and the shuttles started to descend.

The Colonists panicked, the men desperately searching for thermal clips for their old, barely-used weapons, and taking their women and children into the relative safety of their houses. Mothers held their children tight, whilst they watched in slack-jawed amazement as the Cerberus troops, clad in bulky assault armour, descended like locusts on jump-packs.

The colony had once possessed a pair of Anti Aircraft guns that would have made short work of the shuttles, but they had given them away to the Alliance to help with the war effort. Two years on, they still hadn't been replaced. And as the Assault Troopers landed in the centre of the settlement, the colonists started to fear for their lives.

They stared in horror as a loudspeaker was erected in the CentralPlaza, surrounded by sixty Cerberus soldiers who didn't attack. They just stood there in ranks, motionless, their Hornet submachine guns cradled in front of them like babies. Their squads of ten formed a circle around the loudspeaker, facing outwards towards the homes of the Colonists, shuttles hovering above them, doing surveillance sweeps of the settlement. The Colonists could see the mounted turrets in the open holds of the shuttles, each manned by an Engineer. Those shuttles formed a perimeter around the settlement, but one shuttle stayed hovering above the main body of troops. This shuttle didn't have a turret mounted, but two men stood in the hold, looking down through the open door on the settlement. One was a slight young man in a suit and tie, with short black hair and a pointed chin. The other was a far more imposing figure; a tall, thickset man in bulky, red armour. It had obviously been custom painted, but the make was such that anybody vaguely knowledgeable about armour could tell that it was old Alliance N7 armour. The soldier wore no helmet, but a visor HUD was projected in front of his eye. With a shaven head, a thick neck, and an imposing build, he looked truly terrifying, made even worse by the enormous Vindicator battle rifle that he held in his right hand.

After an imposing silence, there was a crackle, and a voice emanated from the shuttle. The thin man in the suit had a microphone in his hand, so it was obviously he who was speaking.

"Greetings, brave colonists; shining examples of humanity. My name is Kirrigan Sole, and I am a proud spokesman of Cerberus. Do not be alarmed, for we come in peace, with a proposition for you. You have proven yourselves to be brave men and women; worthy humans. Proud ambassadors of our race. And we have recognised this, and have come to invite you to take a stand for humanity and take part in the glorious resurrection of Cerberus, and of humanity. If you wish to join us, please step forwards. If not, then we must regrettably recruit you anyway, which will not be a pleasant experience. However, our cause, blessed by The Shepard himself, is noble and just, and you too will be a part of it. Is that not…"

There was the unmistakable crack of a high-powered rifle, and the spokesman was thrown from the shuttle, his head now a mess of blood and bone. He hit the ground next to a squad of troops, and instantly the soldiers spread out, slightly panicked, looking around desperately for the assailant. There was another shot, and the sound of breaking glass, as the shuttle-pilot was hit, causing it to nose dive towards the ground. The soldier in the hold, however, simply gripped the handrail, and then jumped out, landing heavily on the ground… a grin on his face. As the Cerberus troops started to panic, more shots rang out, each one a clean headshot that the target wouldn't ever get up from. Whoever was shooting certainly knew what they were doing. The N7 soldier cast his eyes around, and then hefted his weapon in his right hand.

"Take cover in the houses! Kill anybody who resists!"

He then sidestepped, just as another shot tore into the ground where he had stood just moments before. The soldier grinned, as he saw the shooter; blurred and unrecognisable as he dove into cover behind a parked civilian shuttle, but still definitely holding the rifle. A Viper, if he wasn't mistaken. The soldier turned towards the shooter, and then started to fire, the heavy rounds punching clean through the shuttle walls.

"Nice shooting, old man!" the soldier called. "I had a feeling I'd find you here; that's why I tagged along. You're a fucking legend in my part of the galaxy. There's a load of pissed-off people there, and you're the reason why. Bloody infamous."

He dove forwards in a roll as the shooter blurred out of cover, fired, and then vanished again. The shot, once again, hit the ground.

"Stick to what you're good at, Grandpa! Long range? You're nothing. Now, if only Shepard were here; he'd have shot me first. But you didn't see the real threat, did you?"

The soldier kept shooting, and kept moving forwards.

"Come on! Come out and fight me!"

And then a burst of Assault-rifle fire hit him right in the chest, absorbed by his shields, but still taking them down. The soldier grinned.

"Hell yes! Now it's fun! You gonna come out and play?"

The shooter stood up, and stepped out into the open, a battered, ancient Avenger assault rifle at the ready.

"You really want to do this?"

His voice was ragged and battered; a nasal sneer, and a rasping taunt. It sounded weary, yes, but still confident. And the soldier grinned.

He was a tall, well built man, but not nearly as thickset as his opponent, having a slightly more wiry build. Dressed in grey and yellow armour, with one arm bare, revealing a sleeve of tattoos, cut off by a military-issue glove. There was a Blue-Suns tattoo on the side of his neck, giving some clues as to his past. But it was his face that identified him beyond a shadow of a doubt; his skin was beaten and lined with age, putting him at about fifty-five, and his hair was completely grey… but the entire right-hand side of his face was a mess; a huge, '3'-shaped scar ran down it, as a result of extensive facial grafting. His right eye was a milky white, even though his left was brilliant green, and his lip was pulled into a sneer. He chuckled harshly, and suddenly a burst of gunfire erupted from the barrel of his gun. The soldier cried out in pain, as his gun was flung away and he clutched his arm in pain, blood spurting from the riddled limb.

"You cocky shit. You think N7 training and custom-painted armour makes you a soldier? You think a giant gun makes you a soldier?"

The soldier pulled his heavy pistol from his hip and brought it up, firing, but the scarred man just laughed and fired another burst into his leg, bringing him down to the ground. Then he started striding forwards, as his downed opponent scrabbled for his radio.

"Get out of the houses! Help me!" he screamed into the radio, and the scarred man laughed again, before kicking it from his hand and stamping on his gun hand.

"You're nothing, jackass", he sneered.

"I've taken shits with better soldiers than you. I've taken shits _on_ better soldiers than you. I've eaten flesh from the goddam corpses of better soldiers than you."

He kicked him full across the face, shattering his nose and jaw, and drawing blood.

"And you should have stayed at home. Now…"

He laughed, and ejected his thermal clip, replacing it and bringing the gun, one handed, to bear on the soldier's face.

"Get the hell off my lawn…"

And he pulled the trigger, blowing his brains out, and then turned to face the troops that were starting to exit the houses.

"You should go home; playtimes over. I'm Zaeed Massani, and you're all fucking dead."


End file.
